


12 Chaotic Hours of Christmas

by The Tinglenator (Misha_McCarthy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel Wants Dean Winchester to be Happy, Chaotic Good, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Shopping, Christmas Tree, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Castiel/Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Happy Winchesters (Supernatural), M/M, Mistletoe, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Team Free Will (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_McCarthy/pseuds/The%20Tinglenator
Summary: Christmas is coming up fast. Between two days, zero wrapping paper, and an angel who's very willing to get dragged into Christmas shopping with him, Dean is determined to go all-out this year and make it a holiday to remember- or forget, judging by how much rum Cas dumped into the eggnog.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 6





	1. The Beginning Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so... maybe I was slow on the draw for a 12-part little festive thing. New ~1k chapters coming every evening. :) There'll be a bit of angst to flavour the cute moments, but it'll definitely end up being a wholesome time. Happy December, everybody. ❤️

Cas had reduced himself into a trance-like state, pouring over yet another book from the Men of Letters’ library that Dean figured must have something to do with dark magic. That’s all they’d been focused on beyond a few dull hunts. That stupid Mark on his arm which felt more like a burn, sitting like a pulsing growth on his skin, tugging him towards things he could kill. Blood, warmth- creepy pale vampires, it didn’t matter. They were life sources, and his body was craving to steal more. Dean tore his hand away from where it’d subconsciously strayed to his forearm and forced himself to focus on Cas. His entrance- diving down to sit on the table and slamming a box beside him- seemed to startle the angel, if you could call glancing up half a second quicker than usual a “startled reaction”. Dean prided himself on managing to disturb a Heavenly messenger, and he became all the more excited when Cas swept a blank gaze along the cardboard box, which was another obvious sign of confusion. Well, obvious to anyone who could read angels. He figured that wasn’t any small accomplishment.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked slowly, with a twinge of curiosity.

“Name the date for me, Cas.”

“December 23rd, 2014, according to the Egyptian Christian-adopted calendar.”

Dean opened his mouth, trying to recalibrate. “Yeah, okay, good. So you know what’s in a couple days?”

“I could make a multitude of guesses,” the angel said, pursing his lips a little. “Lots of cultures have changed over the centuries.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you go outside at all?”

Cas put his book down and finally looked like he’d lost his hint of innocent patience. “I still don't understand what this has to do with an old box, or what could possibly make you so happy, except magazines and pop culture movies."

"Fair." Dean nodded and dove into the box, producing a few DVDs Cas didn't recognize. "But they've got a theme this time."

He got furrowed brows for his efforts. "... Bill Murray?"

"Christmas, Cas. It's Christmas."

"Oh." The angel looked a little taken aback at Dean's tone, almost looking apologetic after he'd implied it should be friggin' obvious. Seriously, there were Santas and Christmas lights and holly-covered decorations everywhere. A person couldn't even miss a Hanukkah display banner if they tried. He idly handed over the DVD and rifled through the box a bit more.

"I started picking things up randomly a couple weeks ago, but I bet Netflix will have anything we're missing. We can dig in tonight once we go grab some other stuff. You know," he said off yet another one of Cas' uncomprehending looks. "A tree, bulbs, dessert, the whole nine yards."

"So, we're watching movies and eating pie? I thought you and Sam often skipped holidays."

Dean just smiled, glad to see that Cas wasn't opposed to it. "Well, yeah, that's why I thought we'd do it right this year. The stores have those cheap pull-apart crackers, there's gingerbread and sugar snap cookies…" His face lit up with a realization. "I forgot to write down tinsel."

Cas opened his mouth to say something, but Dean was already propelling himself off the table and grabbing a jacket from one of the library's chairs. "Put the book back, I'll go find my wallet."

"Where are we going?" Cas shouted, even though Dean was already down the steps and jogging off towards his room. He was supposed to be researching about what the Mark might be, and how to reverse the effects. Stashing it somewhere for the next day or two didn't seem like a particularly good idea.

"Christmas shopping!" Dean yelled back, like it was the most natural thing in the world for them to be doing.

OOO

Cas had nothing to compare it to, but he supposed it was probably abnormal for someone to fly around a store, bouncing through the isles and picking up whatever seemed shiny. Maybe that wasn't what Dean was doing, but it was the only idea that made sense. The angel pootling along behind like a parent who was waiting for their kid's sugar rush to end. Finally, he lost sight of Dean for a moment, only for the Winchester to reappear with armfuls of ornaments, tree lights, and a heap of other stuff. Cas never got the chance to read the rest of the labels before they were dumped into his own arms. He watched with his chin just barely resting atop the pile as Dean brushed away the residue glitter, and stopped near the crook of his right arm, as if reminded of something. They eventually caught eyes again and then Dean was gone, setting off towards God-knows-where on his holiday crusade.

He didn't catch up again for a full two minutes. Cas suspected that was a little purposeful. "Dean," he tried, but his only reply was a box set very neatly on top of his precarious pile.

"You'll just have to hold that stuff for another couple minutes. I think I've got almost everything…"

Cas was almost shocked to notice Dean had brought a shopping list. He was nearly certain neither of the brothers had ever seriously considered doing that in their  _ lives _ . It seemed like a far too orderly a thing for Dean to have. Cas honestly wondered if some weird Christmas sprite had taken Dean's place, before he was snapped back down to Earth by the way the Winchester rubbed at his arm absentmindedly, and had suddenly gotten a little more uncomfortable. "Dean," he said again, with a more pressing tone. They met eyes beyond the barrier of plastic boxes he was holding. "This isn't  _ just _ about Christmas, is it?"

Dean smirked and turned around to continue heading down the isle. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just as happy to try celebrating this as you are…"

"Great." A recipe book got angled against his forehead, blocking whatever remaining view Cas had.

"Dean-!"

He heard the Winchester begin walking off, and with one calculated move, he managed to align the Christmas items so that they'd balanced when stacked along one arm. Maybe his dwindling grace had helped, just a little. His free hand snagged Dean's arm right before he got out of range. "Slow down."

Dean looked back at him, at first with a strange fury in his eyes, and then some scaredness at knowing Cas could see right through him. "Have you ever known me to slow down?" Dean asked weakly.

"Sam was worried when we left, Dean. We both know you get dedicated to certain things, but it usually isn't… like this. Christmas sounds like fun. I just don't want you to… When the holiday's over…" Nothing sounded good in his head, and each sentence was a worse failure when they came spilling out.

"Oh, God, not you too," Dean groaned. "I'm not some- some diseased psycho, okay? It's fine right now. This is one of the first Christmases where the world isn't ending, and… I mean, you deserve to go through the festive moments too, Cas. I don't plan to give up on anything. Just… It's once a year that normal people watch rom-coms with jingle bells and drink eggs. Hell, you're even expected to lie to kids about a random man who watches them 24/7 and can get into any house he wants." He shrugged. "If there's a couple days of the year I wanna spend not giving a shit, it might as well be now."

Cas considered asking if that was healthy, but there was the whole "not giving a shit" thing Dean had just mentioned. So instead, he nodded and dropped his light grip from Dean's arm. It was just a few days anyway. Cas supposed he might be happy to enjoy a little break, too.


	2. Five Minutes (that stretched for longer)

Consider it a miracle, but they’d found a cart and Cas gladly dumped everything in- letting tinsel, cheap bulbs, food, wrapping paper, cookie dough, more food, and other bits of junk line the grid-metal walls. There was eggnog and pie and whipped cream cans. Cas was pretty sure he saw some baking ingredients and a huge jar of cinnamon nestled in there somewhere, too. It was packed.

“Are you sure you can afford this?”

“I’ll make it work,” Dean promised, his recently good spirits having returned pretty fast. He wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing in the clothing section until Dean held up a few combined sets of socks. “Think Sam could use these?”

Cas shrugged. “I’ve never really been shopping before. I didn’t think you bought clothes for each other.”

“Well, at Christmas it’s a little different.”

“How come?”

Dean rolled his eyes again, but Cas was adamant about taking it in stride. It seemed like everything was getting flipped on its head right now; though just barely enough so that he didn’t know what would stay the same and what would flip like the rest. “You’re supposed to buy things for people at Christmas. And birthdays.”

He titled his head a little. “You should’ve told me that last part sooner.”

“Eh.” Dean tossed the socks into the cart and pushed it towards the cash registers. “Me and Sam don’t do it anyways, since there’s never anything we actually need. We tend to just buy it as it comes. Can’t go wrong with socks, though.” A silence grew between them as Cas tagged closely behind. “Is there, uh, anything you might want?”

The angel scoffed. That is, until they passed the candy section, and Cas’ eyes got drawn to something as they stood around waiting in line. He snatched up a box of candy canes and met Dean’s eyes with hidden questions.

“Sure, throw them in,” the Winchester said, like a mother who was used to her kids finding random trinkets and hiding them in the cart with or without permission. “They’re peppermint. Practically the most basic Christmas sweet, but… still good.” He watched Cas while he looked back down to study the box. “You’ll like them.” Other customers moved forward in the line, and he had to pull Cas forward to keep the distracted angel moving. “Dude, it’s a box.”

“I’ve seen this man elsewhere… But he’s always portrayed by a different actor.”

Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Cas turned it around, pointing to a jolly guy in red.

“My god, you’re an idiot,” Dean chuckled. “Saint Nick’s been around for like, ever. And you’ve never heard of him?”

“I’ve observed him in Heaven. But this isn’t… Saint Nicholas, if we’re referring to the same person.” The angel seemed to be genuinely second-guessing his own memories.

“He’s supposed to be a made-up character. Santa Claus. Has a sleigh and a whole bunch of flying reindeer with a big bag on his back…” Dean could tell he was losing the angel. “It’s for kids.”

“You always seem to be well-versed in children’s things.”

“Hey.” He blushed. “Sam was the one who believed in Santa until he was practically eleven.”

“No, it’s cute,” Cas said with real tenderness, easily recognizing the defensive measures for what they were. “If you’ll excuse me using that term. I know Sam makes fun of you for it, but I think there’s a peaceful trait to child stories. And videogames. And… DC characters.”

“Batman isn’t just for  _ kids _ .”

“I’m pretty sure it is when you watch the cartoons.”

They both got odd looks from the cashier.

OOO

Dean had let Cas carry all the heavy bags, which the angel did without much a second thought. They dumped anything that needed to stay cool in the trunk, and threw the rest into the Impala’s back seats. A rogue candy cane was thrown into Cas’ lap, and by the time Dean returned from road-racing a cart into one of the storage tents against the chilly air, Cas was deep into eating his candy cane. Except he really was  _ eating _ it, and apparently it had only just started to dawn on the angel that the pieces were sticky and basically designed to get stuck in your teeth if you weren’t careful.

Dean had thought angels didn’t go through many of the same emotions as humans- or maybe he’d gotten to thinking over the years that they didn’t process emotions in the same way. They were millions, probably trillions, of years old. He’d been told time and time again that they were created to be stone-like soldiers. Hell, with half the shit they’d been through, he knew Cas could care- but it didn’t come  _ naturally _ . You don’t just erase that kind of conditioning after meeting a few barely-functioning humans.

Though, the Winchester began second-guessing a few of his conclusions while watching Cas chew through the candy cane. Dean was used to reading a crazy amount of people and emotions, and there were always patterns to how they tried to mask what naturally formed on their faces. But Cas wasn’t making any sort of attempt to hide anything. He rolled the peppermint pieces along his tongue and the roof of his mouth, his eyes opening and lighting up, the edges of his mouth twitching apart just a little- the ghostly hint of a pleased smile. Cas snapped him out of accidentally staring by looking over and locking gazes for a second. The residue happiness was still written all over his face, and Cas innately felt the feeling being returned as they looked each other over for only a split second. “Thanks,” Cas said. “I’m glad you’ve let me in on this weird celebration.”

Dean twisted the keys, if just to have something to do with his hands. “Yeah, man.”

Yet when he stole a quick glimpse to his right, Cas was still looking over him with an expression that was so familiar, but felt somehow disjointed with a face he knew so distinctly.


	3. Wrapping Up An Hour

"Gee, thanks. How'd you guess?"

Dean grinned, even as the weight of plastic bags left his numbed fingers. Sam took a second peak inside and wrinkled his nose at the overload of baking ingredients. Cas shuffled past both of them with some real food in his own bags with a look of discomfort and a sneaky eyeroll Sam missed in his hurry to toss the baking stuff somewhere else.

“What’s all this for, anyways?”

He shrugged. “They were sold outta a lot of Christmas foods, but I figured we still needed a few.”

Sam looked over to Cas, who was knee-deep in the fridge and couldn’t have offered help if he wanted to. He could see the question forming before his little brother had said a single word. It was a pretty good inquiry, honestly.  _ Why _ was he hauling sugar-dusted cookies into the bunker at seven o’clock at night?

Dean answered with a bit of eggnog, and the promise that if all three of them didn’t take a break this one time, they’d all end up collapsed and burnt out over a pile of books, having made no more progress than from before. Cas argued that he couldn’t collapse, but that was besides the point. They needed a break; Dean himself needed to get away from the slow and monotonous nature of their recent research before the pull to kill became achingly strong again. Eggnog reminded the brothers of being young, whenever there was the odd year that their dad realized it was December or Dean pulled in enough money to afford something other than tap water. They were pretty good times for them, all things considered. And the pies would be lucky to see the next light of day.

“What about all these baking ingredients?” Sam pointed out from where they’d hunkered down at the kitchen table. “Please tell me you and Cas plan on dealing with it.”

“Nope. One, baking together would be weird. Two, we need you in the spirit of Christmas instead of slinking back to a 100-year-old lamp. Got it?” The last part he said while stealing Cas’ drink and dumping them by the sink.

He certainly hadn’t been expecting the little smile he got from Sam when he turned back around, but it was there, and it only faded into concern for a second. “Just promise me nothing’s going on in the background.” Dean made the motion of a clean slate as he continued to lean against the counter. Sam and Cas shared some kind of look. “Are you gonna be having much?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t need to eat. Although if there’s anything left over, I suppose I could have that.”

Sam chuckled. “With Dean?  _ Fat _ chance.”

“Alright, yeah, lay off the puns.” Cas caught the signal he gave to follow him and they snagged the rolls of wrapping paper by the entrance door. Without much of a place to go without risking Sam finding their stuff, Dean brought Cas into his own bedroom and laid out the weapons of attack: polar bear gift wrap and multiple cheap tape stands. He dumped a few trinkets onto the floor; it wasn’t anything much, but they’d be something to go under the tree. Another bag was stationed behind him for later. Cas sat down on the opposite end of the mess and looked on with pure curiosity. It practically sent a jolt of worry through him. The last- and first, really- time he’d wrapped presents was with Lisa, and that was a couple years ago by this point. His memory on that was pretty mooch, if there’d ever been anything of it in the first place. The things that had stuck were silently panicking over what Ben might like, whether he was going too far to please or would look like an asshole. And Lisa kissing him, just for a spark of reassurance.

“Here, you mind holding the paper for me?” Dean asked, and grabbed one of Cas’ sleeved wrists to pull forward. The angel’s eyes snapped downwards and he spread his fingers so that as Dean removed his own digits from between Cas’, the paper stayed stretched and in place. He hurried to tug off some tape and lay it nicely overtop.

Cas probably would have gotten the hang of anything else much quicker, being as easy a task as it was to take the paper after Dean pulled it into place. The hard part was measuring it by eye and figuring out what to do with the overlapping corners that emerged. But he didn’t say anything; just let Cas scrutinize the clumsiness of his wrestling match with the paper, and tugged his hands into position when the time came.

“Lisa tried showing me this one time, and I, uh, might not be getting it,” Dean admitted. The odd silence had only been broken once in a while by the clanging Sam made in the kitchen, and he was itching for something else to actually take the awkwardness out of this.

“Why do you hide the contents of your gifts, anyways?”

Cas holding up the conversation let his fingers relax a little over time- though his brain was still trying to make sense of how some paper could morph into such a disaster. “They’re supposed to be surprises. That’s most of the fun in it. You show how well you know someone by getting them something they like without asking them first, and you try to make it something unique.” When he glanced up, Cas seemed to be soaking up his every word. “Though, the socks, I just sorta grabbed.”

“So people always know you’re getting gifts, but they shouldn’t know what the presents are?”

“Yeah.” His reply was a little more absent-mindedly as he stuck out his tongue to avoid ripping the paper. Cas helped to fold it against the box, and it came together like magic.

“That sounds like lying.”

“It is, if they ask about it. Or if  _ you’re _ asking about it and trying to be stealthy.”

Cas knitted his eyebrows together. “Well, whatever the case, I don’t like lying. Isn’t Christmas supposed to be peaceful?”

“You kidding me?” Dean pried his eyes away from the wrapping job entirely this time, and had to wait until Cas realized he’d stopped and glanced up, meeting looks with just a few feet between them. “You’ve lied lots. To me, to Sam.”

The angel glanced away. “And I regret it, Dean. I always will.”

He sighed. “It’s fine. I mean, I forgave you a long time ago. You caught me off guard with that, though.”

“I really do hate it,” Cas mumbled. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt over my siblings’ squabbles. I thought I could control what might come through the portal. The more I did… I told Crowley not to hurt you, and he took Lisa. I didn’t trust that demon to be near the portal, so I opened it myself.” He’d caught Dean under a particularly strong gaze, even for being used to angelic stares like Dean was. “I also feared your anger. And I shut you out first. I crushed everything I tried to hold tenderly.” The tips of their fingers touched for a second, and Dean rocketed his arm back on instinct before he registered what had happened. 

He cleared his throat and tried to focus on the distant sounds of kitchen troubles again. “You’re still family, Cas. With this thing… I’m glad we’ve been able to keep you around.” But his words didn’t seem to mend or make light of the situation, and the Mark felt a little warmer now that he’d become self-conscious of it again.

They went back to wrapping presents with each other’s aid, but there were only a couple more to do. There weren’t exactly many people to be seeing this go-around of the holiday season. Dean might have let Cas stay longer- but he had a few presents for the angel in particular, and he wanted to get those wrapped. He didn’t know what Cas would do while he got some shut-eye, but he gave the angel a little pat on the shoulder, just for a spark of reassurance.


	4. 60 Cold-Ass Minutes

“Good morning, Dean.”

It was 8am. Or 9am. Maybe 10am. Normally Cas was off doing his own thing, but apparently this was one of the rare days where he put Dean’s coffee-maker lessons to good use. The angel preemptively held out a steaming hot mug, and Dean cradled it for warmth against the slight chill the bunker had developed since winter started. The seats at the kitchen table were calling his name, leaving him hunched over and still blinking the sleep from his eyes. Weirdly enough, Cas didn’t seem all that much better. Once in a while he might share a snack with the brothers, but this morning he took a chair across from Dean and watched the beautiful golden liquid with as much appreciation as the Winchester. They sat like that for a while. It felt nice, just soaking up the ability to be lazy. Dean didn’t even bother to ask where Sam was. He was probably more drained than the two of them combined- and once the kid was out, it was best to leave him like that.

“I didn’t know you could get so tired,” Dean said. He had his eye on the fridge, gauging how much energy it’d take to snag a few pieces of pie.

Cas just groaned in response and rubbed his knuckles against his forehead.

“Are you… doing good?”

The angel smiled, as if in an attempt to convince himself of his answer. “It’s about the same as ever, though the Mark’s kept me preoccupied. I don’t know how you manage to ignore it so well.”

“Guess I’m just used to brushing stuff off,” he snickered. To that, Cas kept silent, opting only to sip his coffee like it was some centuries-old wine. “Say. You wanna help me cut down a tree?”

Cas sputtered on his coffee for a second and made the act of turning around to face Dean very slow and accusatory. “I thought this celebration was about taking it easy.”

Dean shrugged innocently. “Well, we’re not just gonna buy a  _ fake _ tree. Those things cost hundreds of bucks, and we’ve got a backyard full of them. I’m sure we could haul one back in by lunch.”

“Lunch for you is anywhere from now until 6pm," Cas said, hiding a cute little smile behind his mug.

"Half an hour. Then I'm taking you and an axe with me to go find a cedar." He motioned towards the angel with his pie fork and stubbornly ignored the friendly jabs he kept receiving from Cas.

Sam was still lights out from where he'd fallen asleep in the library. It didn't surprise Dean that his brother refused to stop researching, but he was still holding onto the hope that when they returned with the tree, everyone would be able to get their minds off things. A cold wind hit Dean and Cas as soon as they stepped outside. It wasn't going to be pleasant, even though they'd both buttoned up unusually good. Leafless trees and blue-tinted bushes stood still around them. Cas, apparently, was some kind of tree-guru that could tell which trees were healthy. They eventually happened upon a well-proportioned tree and the angel leaned against an old oak, content to sit back as Dean shuffled the cold wooden handle of the axe. Then, he dug his heels into the frosted dirt and pivoted in one smooth motion. The axe clipped off the bark. Pieces of wood and bark scattered out like the resounding thud of the impact. Dean muttered something about having to sharpen afterwards; and rinse and repeat, until there was a nicely sized wedge in the tree.

"I just realized, you never asked about why we'd need a tree."

"I'm fairly certain it wouldn't make sense either way, so, I've learned to just go with it. Besides, it's fun to watch your excitement drain away with the realization that this wasn't thought through very well."

"Hey, this is a… classic plan. You don't think I can cut down an oversized twig?"

Cas leaned back with a self-assured look on his face. "What I really doubt is that you'll be able to get it inside."

Dean snickered at the challenge and turned back to chipping away at the wedge. Sometimes he started to sweat, other times the wind would figure out a way to weave between the trees and instantly freeze the sweat on touch. His swings grew a little unsteady with his shivering over time, but he knew he’d made good progress against the tough, healthy wood by the time Cas wandered forward.

“Do you want me to do it?”

“Nah. I’m almost done this side.” He paused to catch his breath, then flexed his shoulders and went for another blow. “You should probably step back.”

He expected some kind of admonishment about how angels didn’t care if they got hit with sharp pieces of wood and that he was an idiot for having cared to warn him in the first place, but Cas followed his advice and went back to leaning against a tree, his arms folded and eyes politely tracking each swing Dean delivered to the wood. Cas seemed intrigued by the method he had to use to dig through the wood and make the tree fall. Maybe an angel could have just uprooted the entire thing and ripped the roots from the base like snapping the ends of sticks. Using some angel juice probably would’ve made it far quicker. But Dean liked the harsh bite of the season and it felt good to swing something as primal as an axe. To let it dig through such a solid target, without hurting anyone- be they an innocent or crazy monster. He didn’t like giving over to the Mark like that; not logically. By the time his knife tasted blood, though, he usually wasn’t thinking logically.

It was so therapeutic, he didn’t realize he’d cut way too far on the one side. Cas had come up on his left and reached a hand across to hold his wrist as soon as Dean finished another swing. Sometimes he forgot how warm the angel was, and the rest of his body shrank away from the frosty air, preferring the comfort that radiated from where Cas’ shoulder brushed up against his. He felt the axe being tugged from his grasp. “Let me.”

“You have to start on the other side, same height,” Dean muttered, knowing his cheeks were red as the angel pulled him backwards, and hoping Cas would assume it was just the cold weather catching up with him. The angel nodded and took a few seconds to check his stance before starting a wedge on the other end of the tree. It was practically a perfect replica of Dean’s swings, even though Dean didn’t think his movements were very efficient. Surely someone like Cas could have positioned his weight to be more precise than a human, but Cas seemed intent on mimicking Dean, and before much could be said, the tree hit the ground with a bounce. Cas passed him the axe and attempted to start hauling the entire thing back to the bunker on his own. “Jesus, Cas, let me help.” He grabbed the tip of the pine tree with his free end and hoisted it up. Most of the weight- and Dean’s self-assured nature had found them quite a big tree- was still on Cas. He glared at the angel as if willing him to let up on some of the weight, but the angel was annoyingly resolute, and Dean was freezing his ass off.

So they carried it back like that and stopped only once, after Cas’ tie snagged on the branch of a bush. Cas frowned at the threads that’d come undone, and Dean grinned, glad to know that at least one of the angel’s presents would be useful.


	5. Inside of an Hour

They’d hit an impasse. The tree was too big to maneuver through the front door, and currently, Dean was outside, trying to shove it through branch by branch. They’d have to send it flying over the balcony. There was  _ no way _ this thing would be going down their winding staircase. He was in the middle of struggling to get a huge branch through when suddenly Cas tugged it back out into the waning sunlight, effectively managing to undo the last ten minutes they’d spent struggling to get it inside.

“The hell are you doing?”

Cas sighed. His hair had become slightly more unruly with the wind and his tie’s rip was easily noticeable, but his eyes were just as bright and attentive as ever. “You must be cold. I’ll figure this out.”

Dean’s scoff was caught short by Sam, who appeared in the doorway. His brother only stayed there for a split second before retreating back to the heat with a few incoherent curses. “God, it’s cold. What’re you two doing?” He poked his head out from the side of the doorframe and spotted the needled branches behind them. “That thing’s not coming in here, Dean. We’ll need a cauldron to fit it in and they shed like crazy.”

“Oh, it’s coming in,” he promised. “... Somehow.”

“If it’s necessary to Christmas, I’m sure I can manage the requirements of planting it in the main room.”

Sam looked at them in mortification, but Dean just slapped Cas on the back. “That's the spirit."

The angel didn't exactly look very happy at that moment, though. His face had clouded over with an almost overbearing aura of determination. If Dean wanted  _ that _ tree through  _ that _ door, he'd be the one to make it happen. "You should both back up."

"What?" He ignored Sam's snicker from the shadows of the warm bunker. "I'm helping you shove this thing."

" _ No _ ," Cas said, drawing out the word. "You're going inside to warm up and reduce the risk of catching a cold, or worse. Your methods have been… um, not working, anyways. So it makes no difference."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't spare me the team congratulations or anything."

Cas kept his tone gentle. "Inside. Now."

Under the stern gaze that was freckled with concern and friendly care, Dean fought to continue looking gruff and eventually buckled to the angel's order. Sam was already multiple steps ahead along the stairs. They decided to dig through the garage and supply areas to find some kind of pot that’d support the massive tree Dean had found- however unlikely that was going to be. And, in a twist that shocked nobody, they didn’t find anything along the lines of a normal plant pot.

“So how’d you drag Cas into this?” Sam asked overly-pleasantly. Dean had grease and dust covering his fingers from everything he’d dug through, but he was sure that the Men of Letters would have something lying around.

“It was really easy, actually. I told him the basic idea and he’s just been rolling with it.”

Sam pulled his bottom lip up and nodded his head as if to say it was a little stunning, but perfectly acceptable. Dean still wasn’t getting why the two were so surprised about the possibility of a celebration. They were bound to get a chance at some point, right? He figured there was no reason this shouldn’t be one of their chances. Just a short spot of freedom, in between dodging bullets and saving the world from Knights of Hell and Heavenly dicks. It was a Winchester Christmas if there was ever going to be one.

“Hey, look, they’ve got buckets back here.” Sam pulled out a large tin bucket that seemed like the staple of its time- classic blue-grey, thin, but sturdy. He wondered how long it’d survive with the tree of them using it.

“Great. I’ll go grab the dirt.”

Sam turned it upside down, looking for holes. “I think it’s supposed to be just water.”

“How’s that work?”

Sam shrugged. “There’s probably easy systems for, y’know, people that buy their trees instead of carrying a monster tree, looking like they’re returning home from the war.”

He stole the bucket from Sam’s grasp. “Then this war hero’s gonna figure out his own way to prop it up.”

“Sure. I’ll leave you and Cas alone,” Sam said, grinning. He got knocked in the head with some tin for that, but nonetheless, they split up.

Sam was sneaking some pie before it would all inevitably be swept up, under the guise of cooking. He really didn’t mind it. Some packages told you to throw a kind of liquid and powder together, and then he was able to sit back and dig through deep stretches of old magic archives without anyone coming within a few dozen feet of him. It was going by a lot faster- but still no luck on even identifying what the Mark might be. He sighed at the kitchen table, able to hear shouts in the distance.

Dean wielded a bucket half-full of water and a one-handed saw. Cas was struggling to maneuver the tree along the staircase, but somehow, the angel was doing an amazing job of it overall. They dumped the tree on the ground and Dean began to work on cut away the debris branches, which he’d decided could be reused as supports if he found ones that were thick enough. Stick ‘em between the bucket and the tree, and- theoretically- things should hold. Pine needles had gotten spread all across the main room in a matter of minutes. Cas sat beside him, holding it steady, then kept it upright while they got it settled in the proper location.

He clapped his hands as they stood back, getting a good look at the ruffled tree. It was homey, and brightened things up immediately. A grin had made itself comfortable on his face by now. All their cheap decorative junk was in his room. They could have the entire room glowing by tonight. Christmas Eve. It was going to be  _ awesome _ .

Of course, that was the moment he noticed that not everything was going so well. The angel beside him only looked over the tree with a detached gaze and drained eyes. His breathing didn’t seem too bad, but the rest of Cas was off-putting in a worrying kind of way- his typical reserved nature had been replaced by lethargy. Dean had never known angels to get sluggish unless something was really wrong.

Cas turned to him, clearly awaiting instructions on what else they were supposed to be doing for Christmas. A little light seemed to flicker to life in his eyes for a minute, and suddenly it was as if Dean had imagined the drowsiness- but before he could find his voice, Sam was calling, “I’ve got hot chocolate.”

Both of their faces reflected certain amounts of confusion.

Dean twisted around to see his brother carrying three mugs and a pack of marshmallows- unopened, thankfully, because the only way he could carry the marshmallows in one go was between his teeth. Everyone approached the table. Cas took a mug with such genuine interest that Dean felt a few demeaning words die on his lips. It was a childish drink, and he honestly had no clue where Sam could have gotten the mixes or the marshmallows- but it  _ was _ Christmas, and his resolve broke once the familiar smell rose up far enough to attract his attention. Two marshmallows wedged their way into his drink. He watched Cas take his first sip, and plopped one marshmallow into it, right above his nose. The angel pulled his mug away with an enchanted grin. Sam dived right into explanations about why the chocolate was in liquid form and the incracities of whether or not to let the marshmallow dissolve fully. The seat between Sam and Cas was quickly stolen as Dean reclined, enjoying the heat that came from the drink’s temperature, and not the alcohol contents. Whatever hint Cas had shown of lethargy was gone.


	6. Hours of Days Past

Sam was in charge of hanging up lights and tack-on holly around different rooms of the house. Each pack came with a little bit of mistletoe, but it went without saying that there was absolutely no reason for it. Cas had, at first, been interested in watching Sam try to make every little bit of decor spread as far as possible. But at some point the younger Winchester ducked around a hallway corner- probably to mess up Dean’s room and put whatever he could in the most annoying places- and Cas contented himself with leaning over a fourth mug of hot chocolate at the table, his back now mostly to Dean. Dean himself was busy going back and forth between one end of the table and the tree, opening boxes of ornaments and cleaning up pine needles before he found the string of tiny tree-lights. He’d also been forced to make another batch of hot chocolate for the angel. But that one, he didn’t mind so much.

“I’m not sure why the Christians adopted some of the traditions they did, but the celebration has certainly smoothed itself out over the years. Well, it’s hardly celebrating anything anymore, but it’s a nice thing to do anyways.” Cas had been reminiscing like this for a while, and Dean had sort of just let him continue. “Is there a very big difference between how families and couples spend the holiday?”

Dean glanced up from where he’d been putting some ornaments together. “Uh, no. I mean, people with kids usually let them watch cartoons and do Santa stuff, I guess. We never had any of that. Everyone else just takes it easy.”

Cas nodded, knowing Dean preferred not to dwell on many earlier memories, and took another sip of his hot chocolate while Dean flung some tinsel on the needles as a last minute touch. It was a classic look, what with a laced ribbon, tiny single-coloured lights, and plain but pretty ornaments hung at random. He sat on the table and stretched across Cas’ view to snag a marshmallow. The angel glanced over at the Christmas tree in all its splendor.

“Dean?”

“Yeah,” he said between shoving in more marshmallows.

“Why’s there a throwing star on top of the tree?”

Still with a mouth half-full of marshmallow, Dean paused with a guilty look on his face. “There’s supposed to be either an angel or a star up there.” Cas continued to stare at the weird way the metal reflected each of the little lights on the tree. Dean stretched out again somewhere behind him and returned to his peripheral with a handful of marshmallows. “I forgot to get a star, and I thought it’d be more trouble than it’s worth to try and wrestle you up there.”

Cas glanced over and studied Dean for a minute, in an attempt to figure out if he was joking or not. Dean put up with the stare for about five seconds before tossing Cas a marshmallow, which the angel caught with his mouth, having gotten used to popcorn tosses from previous movie nights whenever Dean decided that he’d been talking too much over a classic show. Despite how natural the move had become, Dean grinned all the same. “You know, you’re more fun than Sam. Sometimes.”

Cas turned himself in the chair to fully face the Winchester. “Really?”

“Sure. He never did anything stupid with me. Hell, I bet he’s taking so long back there because he’s trying to decipher something about the Mark. And I appreciate his faith, but…”

“You want someone who listens.” Then he muttered, “Like a pet.”

Dean threw out another marshmallow. Cas caught this one between his teeth and spent time chewing on it. “You don't mean that."

"It's comparable."

By this time Dean was leaning a little closer to Cas, along the side of his chair. "Well. You  _ are _ cute."

Cas frowned. Dean's tone was serious, but he couldn't imagine the words having the same weight. "Cuteness is usually a sign of disastrous innocence."

"Are you allergic to compliments?"

"I'm not allergic to anything."

Cas blinked as Dean leaned even closer, his elbow on the table, his legs unfolded for balance. Cas' chair still faced the table, but somewhere along the line he'd twisted himself to face both the tree, and Dean. They were close enough for Dean to make out the individual pores on Cas' face. Some deep part of his mind reminded him about the fact that he was just looking at a vessel. A way to physically ground the kind of creature a human mind couldn't even render properly if it tried. An angel. Creatures that weren't supposed to understand emotions, or jokes, or compliments.

Cas sat under Dean's gaze, absently picking up the smell of whatever hot chocolate had been left in his mug. He almost missed the moment Sam reentered the room a minute or so later, carrying leftover sticky tack. His shoulders were looser than before, and his gait seemed easier- like he was less stressed than before. Maybe Christmas had finally begun to take his mind off things.

Then something white flew past Sam's head, and the Winchester whirled on it like it might have been a bullet. A little marshmallow hit the floor a good number of feet away and squished itself there.

“See?” Dean whispered not-so-discreetly. “It's no fun. His reflexes are slow.”

A second marshmallow dinged Sam square on the forehead just as he turned around. Cas ended up having to make a dodge when Sam caught a marshmallow and hurled it back. “You’re stupidly immature, Dean.”

“You done with your leafy stuff yet?”

“Actually, yeah. There’s just a couple things left to cook for tonight.”

“Incredible.” Dean’s sarcastic tone was muffled beyond a layer of marshmallow gum, but it just seemed to make him all the happier when it brought a disgusted look to Sam’s face. “ _ I’m _ going to find us some movies.”

Cas moved to follow Dean out the room. It must have been through sheer luck that he noticed the younger Winchester’s look- a little flash of hope that Cas wouldn’t doom him to deal with the kitchen alone. He didn’t think he’d be useful among stovetops and ovens and so much other equipment. But, at the same time, it was the perfect opportunity to pose some questions.


	7. Man of the Hour

The kitchen had been left as quite a big disaster from the night before, and it wasn’t getting any better now, despite the fact that most of what Sam was making followed easy recipes- some even had instructions on the packaging that summed up to: “add heat”. Nonetheless, Cas tried to take notes as Sam organized himself and the many mounds of snacks Dean had bought on the side. He wasn’t exactly sure what he could do- or even what he  _ should _ be doing, but after a minute it seemed like Sam just appreciated the company.

“I heard you guys watched some Christmas movies last night.”

Cas frowned. He didn’t think Dean would have admitted to anything like that.

“Er-” Sam pulled the oven closed. “I overheard it. They didn’t sound like classic Christmas stuff, though.”

“They were romances.”

Sam’s eyebrow perked almost instantly. He forgot about everything else that was cooking at the moment and made himself comfortable leaning against the opposite counter a couple feet away. There was a mischievous smile growing on his face. “You mean soft snow, coffee, catch-a-train-for-you romances?”

“I don’t know many cliches. But yes, they had some of that.” Once in a while Cas would dodge his way past a few late-night movies and return to the library looking extremely disgruntled, or just all-around disappointed. Other times he’d come out with Dean’s levels of buzzing enthusiasm. Today, however, the angel didn’t appear to care about the movies either way. “Are any parts of them… realistic?”

“Which parts?”

Or maybe Sam was wrong. Cas began to look a little,  _ tiny bit _ uneasy. “The characters seem to forgive each other pretty easily. And… Dean told me the phrase was ‘fall in love at first sight’.”

“They’re- sort of realistic? I guess you could say they’re just over-exaggerations, but I think they make the story way too simple. Nobody forgives people that soon. Half the time the guy seems like a creep… And love at first sight is abysmal.”

Cas glanced down. “I liked the trope.”

“You watched a few movies with that?”

The angel nodded, and Sam grinned with the newfound ammunition. “I know humans experience the world differently, but it’s funny, then, that a trope like this should become so popular. Angels sense an array of different frequencies beyond normal human perception. I think- at least, before many angels became hardened or ordered into apathy- that we are naturally inclined to like humans. What they radiate… sometimes it’s astounding. It’s how many of my siblings found vessels they like. They come across a human with some kind of energy…” Cas seemed very happy to be reliving certain memories.

“But over time, that process got diluted?”

“It was never much of a process in the first place. It would just happen. Of course, most vessels don’t connect well.” Cas looked at Sam in a way that made the Winchester feel like he was being asked for forgiveness. “I’ve taken a rare number of vessels. They always fought me, in some form or another. I tried to help keep them content, and it never worked- they only ever let me in because I was supposed to be some connection to the divine. Call that divinity God, or justice, or love.”

Sam chuckled a bit. “Yeah.”

Cas glanced at the ground. “You and your brother expected things to be like that, too. I let you both down in that regard- perhaps Dean most of all. He was always the one who struggled to put his trust, or faith. into anything. And for good reason.”

“I think you’ve been good for him, Cas,” Sam said softly. “Not to mention how helpful you’ve been in general. We, uh, can’t connect with people as quickly as angels can. We just sorta spend time with people we like and build up relationships from there. If Dean wants to watch movies…  _ especially _ dumb movies, I say you’re doing good.”

The angel still seemed uncertain of himself. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I don’t even know what the most appropriate Christmas gift would be.”

“Dean doesn’t need a big present. You could probably give him a penny, and he’ll run around carrying that thing all day long, bragging about having the luckiest coin ever.”

The joke flew right over Cas’ head. He was already too deep into thought about which item would be the most useful, or interesting, or explosive. From the look on his face, Sam could have sworn the angel was considering how to fight the toughest battle of his career. “I need something he’ll definitely enjoy.” His voice was deeply serious.

Sam sighed and took a quick glance at the clock. He still had some time before most of the food would be ready, so he assumed he could spare another minute. “You want me to help narrow some choices?”


	8. Mark the Hour

Cas wandered the halls with a glass of eggnog in his hand and a chicken-scratch list of gift ideas in his pocket, but he still felt a little uncertain of himself. As far as he could make out from Dean’s Christmas ramblings and the movies he’d been forced to watch, since tonight was Christmas Eve, any and all gifts were expected by morning. If not sooner. And he didn’t even know where he might find any of these sorts of presents for Dean, let alone when he might get the chance to slip away tonight to grab them. Between the dinner Sam had just finished, the rest of the movies Dean kept reminded him they’d never finished, and what seemed like an ever-growing amount of pagan traditions to do, he was sure the entire night was going to be taken up with stuff. But for now, all he was supposed to be worried about was finding Dean- and to stop eating all the cheese puffs, which was probably the real reason Sam had sent him out of the kitchen.

Upon finding Dean’s room to be empty, the angel didn’t have a hard time determining where else he might be. Dean had found an empty room quite a while ago, and since Sam didn’t seem to care what happened with it, the elder brother had sought to fill it up with… junk, apparently. There’d been no Men of Letters’ research, no traps, and no other usual signs of shenanigans. He hadn’t really been in there since Dean first took him on a rant about where he might put a bar or table tennis. However, he couldn’t say it came as much of a surprise when he walked in to find a bunch of obviously second-hand furniture and an assortment of beer bottles littered across the floor.

Dean had been hard at work- he guessed. There was a loveseat, a few boxes of crap, and a bookshelf laid on its side to support an incredibly old TV, where Dean was currently trying to jam a VHS tape into a connected player. It didn’t seem to be going very well. Cas took notice of how much colder it seemed in this room compared to all the others. Really, his major concern was with all the beer and junk food lying around.

“This is a disaster, Dean.”

The Winchester whipped his head around for a moment, as if caught doing something in secret. He relaxed when he noticed it was Cas, and he set down the tape in favour of picking up a pile of DVDs. They’d probably come from the box he was shown yesterday- which now sat just a few feet away, still brimming with movies. It was a little surprising he hadn’t found another DVD player to bring in here. But knowing how much Dean liked to decorate his own rooms, Cas figured it wouldn’t be much longer before this area had its own functionale. It was certainly big enough to house everything Dean had mentioned when they first managed to unlock the door. He’d been nearly as childishly excited as he was about Christmas right now. Nearly.

“It’s a work in progress,” Dean retorted without much fire behind him. Disapproval was still written all over Cas’ face anyways. He extended the eggnog to Dean and busied himself by collecting all the beer bottles into one area of the floor while the Winchester made quick faces at his drink.

"You shouldn't hide these.” He knew sometimes Dean hated to worry them with his own ways of coping, but it was worrying nonetheless whenever he came across scenes like this. In the back of his mind, he already knew to expect more in Dean’s bedroom, and these were just the ones Dean hadn’t had time to clean up yet.

"You're worried about the alcohol  _ here _ ?" Dean took his next sip without souring his expression. "I'm pretty sure you gave me rum with a side of eggnog."

Cas looked up. "Is it bad?"

"Nah. But strong as hell, that's for sure. You can smell it from a yard away."

He held the glass out for Cas to inspect, and when he began to take some time, he handed the whole thing over to Cas and turned back to shut the cases of some movies- always a particular person about if one his discs had a touch of dust on it. Soon he straightened, but Kate Winslet’s name died out before he could say a single word. A little surprised sound escaped him at the sight of Cas stealing a sip of his eggnog. “Hey!” The drink sloshed as he tore it from the angel’s grasp. “I claimed this one. You can’t just drink after me,” he chided, even as he took another gulp in spite.

Cas licked away the little white remnants of Dean’s drink from his lips. “I thought it had too much rum in it.”

“Yeah, well, you gave it to me, so now it’s mine.”

Dean was very possessive of his glass as he made a return trip to his room, with a vaguely interested angel in tow, and a pile of discs that he needed to find a home for among the mess he’d made of his dresser and other surfaces. Cas adjusted the bedding while Dean went through some of his drawers. And, well, the eggnog was left unattended again. Mentally, he could already hear Dean swearing in protest before it actually happened.

“Dude. Don’t drink  _ all _ of it. Jeez.” The drink got pulled out of his hands again, but this time it was much more thoughtful, more slow. “Look. You’re supposed to savour it.” Dean sipped on his eggnog a little. The Winchester didn’t seem at all fazed that they practically stood  _ right _ in front of the other. In fact, after peeling the glass away from his mouth, Dean reached up a thumb to where Cas had smudged a bit more eggnog creaminess on the top of his lips, and wiped it away, ever so gingerly. “Otherwise you look like an idiot.”

Then Dean gave him back the drink, and at the smell of food, suggested they go see what Sam had been able to cook up.


	9. Hour by Hour

Turns out when Sam gets his mind stuck on something- and this time it was polishing up a very  _ cute _ Christmas-style dinner- somehow, it always goes in his favour. The gravy wasn’t clumped up, and nor was the turkey too dry. Dean assumed someone who’d been cooking for twenty years and had a normal family they spent the holidays with might have balked at a few of their choices of sides, but to the three of them sitting alone in the bunker’s echoing main room, it was one of the most grounding sights they’d come across. It was December 24th. There wasn’t blood and guts decorating the walls; there were lights and fake greens. And there wasn’t just another case to be finishing up, there was food to dig into. Cas came to stand beside him in the doorway, silently running his own gaze along the length of the table, much like Dean had been doing; and when he looked over, he saw undisguised content covering Cas’ face.

“C’mon.” His hand brushed Cas’ sleeve as he beckoned him to follow. Sam glanced at them as they approached the table. The little smirk he got from his younger brother was almost foreign. He’d been caught putting a lot of effort into something, but instead of steeling himself against one of Dean’s usual quips, he just looked… happy- happy to be finished with it, he guessed. “This looks  _ awesome _ ,” he said aloud, unable to hide his own giddiness at doing something that really resembled Christmas this time. 

“Yeah, well, the kitchen isn’t doing so good,” Sam said with a little smile. Dean waved him off while sitting down.

This was a real holiday- not that they hadn’t spent some of their birthdays relaxing, in the past. But those days often came and went.  _ This night _ , however, seemed like it was one that would be hard to forget. He wasn’t wrong. The orange lighting, though soft, was far brighter than the sparse lamps they flicked on around the bunker. The mixed aromas as he told stupid, old stories in between eating were far more inviting than the usual grease, and tired atmosphere, of the diners they stopped in at. And nobody could help from smiling for long.

Cas repeated the fact that he didn’t need to eat. Apparently the angel only planned on snacking on stuff  _ after _ the brothers were pretty much done, but when he took a peek into the bowls with chips in them, he saw that their contents had dwindled away.

They’d all stopped touching their plates a while ago by the time Dean had gotten to some story about Sam nodding off in the Impala as kids, and jolting awake every time his cheeks touched the frosted windows. Usually they tried to work in the south during the winter, but one of their dad’s friends had gotten into a fix up in Michigan, and Sam in that puffy jacket with round pink cheeks, angrily walking back with him from the grocery store-

Sam groaned. “Dean.”

“Hey, it was cute,” he tossed back with a grin. He’d snuck a few sips out of Cas’ dizzying eggnog before the cup ended up shuffling over to the side closest to Sam. Cas never got on his case about drinking quite as much as Sam, but sometimes he would clean up the beers before Dean was entirely done, or remind Dean about the movie he’d suggested before he drank himself to death, leaning over piles of research. The rest of the eggnog and rum would be sitting conveniently in the kitchen, but he knew he probably shouldn’t grab anything like that. Not to mention that the atmosphere was so comforting and alien right now that it felt fragile- that leaving the table for just a minute might alter the one thing he hoped wouldn’t end anytime soon.

“I’m pretty sure it was cuter when you gave Meryl Webber that dark blue jacket.” Sam smirked at Cas, who- for whatever reason- seemed glued to Dean instead. “You were  _ so _ mad when it came back smelling like her perfume. But we all knew you wouldn’t wear it because you just didn’t want to drown out the smell.”

“Dude, you were like, eleven. You’re remembering it wrong.” He took another forkful of the berry-mix pie on his plate, if only to have something to do with his hands while looking down. The knife he’d used to cut it out with had “accidentally” slipped and allotted him a whole quarter of the pie in one go, but with everything else he’d gorged on tonight, his stomach was almost repulsed by the thought of eating more. It was practically a new experience for him. He pushed the plate away with a little groan and leaned back in his chair to put his feet up on the table’s surface, careful not to get them too close to anyone or anything else.

Sam was noticeably choking down his own bile. “That’s disgusting.” It was fair. The pile had been suitably ravaged; cut here and there, crust chunks embedded in the filling at odd angles, bits scattered all over the plate like it’d exploded.

“It looks about the same to me,” Cas said, taking a moment to seriously inspect it.

Dean pointed in affirmation to Cas. “It’s all going to the same place.”

“Good. You’d better eat it, because I am  _ not _ touching that.”

His eyes rolled in response. He could probably finish it later tonight, if the conversation kept up long enough. Or not. The ache in his gut was growing more by the minute, beginning the familiar process of an evening-long reminder that sometimes he enjoyed food a bit too much. “I’ll wash ’em. You’ve done enough tonight.”

Sam smiled. “I’ll take that.”

Cas caught his gaze and then looked down to the remainder of the pie on Dean’s plate. It was the last of the berry pie;  _ someone _ had gotten into it yesterday and Sam had finished off the tiny piece Dean left him with. “Is it good?” Cas asked him.

“Really good.”

Sam watched, absolutely mortified, while Cas picked up his fork for the first time that night and used it to dig out some of the pie’s flesh. Though he vaguely remembered Cas saying food never tasted the same as an angel, he balanced the creamy bottom, the crust, and the filling like a practiced connoisseur and seemed to enjoy what he tasted. The plate was quickly pulled into Cas’ area of the table, and he worked on scraping it up by each bit. Sam continued looking on, both horrified and fascinated. His little brother had been grossed out by his methods of ravaging a piece of pie, and in contrast, Cas’ slow and deliberate manner of eating was far more formal. But the pure fact that Cas was eating  _ after _ Dean seemed to make it the most enrapturing thing yet.

Dean was also a little surprised, but he tried not to let it show. Germs probably didn’t mean anything to an angel. “I told you it was good,” he told no one in particular. Sam shot him a glance with a raised brow, even though it looked like he might have an idea of what was going on. Dean certainly didn’t. He just shrugged and leaned back a bit more, watching the Christmas tree’s light play off of Cas’ eyes.


	10. After Hours

A few more stories were traded around that night. A few more hours went by, a few more laughs got passed around.

That was, until Cas seemed to get a sudden realization and had to get up from the table. The conversation had been something about doing secret santas at school- or whatever, Dean couldn’t remember it well. He had been enjoying the moment more than he’d been focused on the topics. It was pretty typical, in retrospect, that Cas would suddenly have to leave on “business that shall not be named”. Dean knew he looked pissed for the first minute. Then he just did his best to let the emotions float past- feeling a little too relaxed and tired, a little too disappointed to be angry. And it wasn’t Cas’ fault, it was just… Cas.

He chuckled, feeling his temper surfacing just as the bunker door slammed shut behind the angel. “Man. Always something new on angel radio, huh?” His words were bitter, and they tasted surprisingly sweet as they came out.

“I don’t think it’s like that, Dean,” Sam said softly. Too softly, for his liking.

“Then what _is_ it like? Because- I- I know we don’t ever do stuff like this, so nobody should really have a ton of stuff ready, and we can’t just quit researching for a whole week at a time. But it was…” He snagged the eggnog Cas had left behind- it wasn’t much, but the alcohol content was enough to hit the spot, for the moment. “I just wanted _this_ night to work out. Y’know?”

“Well, thanks, I’ll remember all your appreciation next time I go to cook something else,” Sam groused.

Dean rolled his eyes, feeling as drained as his brother now that the fun had shrivelled into dust.

Sam sighed. “Look, I get it. Cas ends up confusing me way more than he does you. He’s just never been good at talking about things. Especially emotional-kinda stuff and everything that goes along with a holiday…” he chuckled. Dean must have been accidentally giving him some sort of look. “You’re not so good at it either. But you really liked that NES Zapper-”

“Dude.”

“- even when you feigned disinterest, because apparently you were ‘too old for it’ by the time you finally got your hands on one. Point is, Cas cares about a lot more stupid stuff of yours than you’ll give him credit for, and if you put all your street smarts into reading him _once_ lately, you’d probably see it.” He caught Dean toying with the empty glass. “Don’t think about it too long. There’s still all these dishes here you said you’d wash.” Sam flashed him a grin and got up from the table, trying to give him something of a reassuring look that Dean avoided entirely.

He did as he promised. The food was either washed away or shoved into the fridge to be finished up quick tomorrow, and he dried his hands with a small huff, glancing around the silent kitchen and tossing the damp rag onto the counter with a good sense of finality. Only, the night was still- for the most part- in its infancy, and he knew with the kinds of thoughts he still had playing on his mind that he’d never be able to crash like Sam was doing right now. Instead, a case of beer came back with him to his room, and he emptied it gradually while going through the rest of the DVD pile he’d set aside for him and Cas to finish watching.

* * *

Cas glanced down at his list too many times to count. Surely over two dozen times while he coasted around in his car, noticing that a lot of stores in the area had closed for Christmas. And plenty more times in between. There were a few locations kept open largely by people who didn’t celebrate the holiday, and a few that had nothing better to do. One local store caught his eye, and he came away that evening with a gift for each of the brothers, feeling pretty pleased with himself, despite how Sam’s list of ideas had gone completely to waste.

Wrapping was another matter entirely. But the box was _covered_ , and he hoped that was all that mattered. It hadn’t seemed like such a challenge until Dean was no longer there to fix his folds or measure the amount of wrapping paper each object needed. He placed Sam’s present along with the others under the tree, and held onto Dean’s, for whatever reason. The box was so small and delicate-looking compared to what the brothers had stocked the rest of the tree with. He tossed it between either of his hands, making his way down the hall until the sound of old pop music echoed from underneath Dean’s bedroom door. So, he was still awake. Cas didn’t know what he’d expected. Sure, it was late, but proper sleep hours weren’t much of a thing in the bunker.

He opened the door slowly to see Dean lounging among a few of his pillows, a remote in one hand and a beer in the other. In fact, there were quite a few beers littered around the place. Dean seemed fairly indifferent to his entrance, and he used this as an excuse to close the door behind him, catching a glance at the movie and the kind of mess Dean had managed to make of his room in such short order. It reeked of cheap beer.

“You came back quick,” Dean remarked while the movie continued to flicker light across the one side of his face.

“What do you mean?”

Dean seemed to be searching him for something. “Doesn’t your angel business usually take longer?”

“Well, it wasn’t actually anything to do with angels or cases…” Cas fumbled to bring the box out from behind his back. It looked a little foolish now that he could guess why there were so many beers left drained around the room recently. He hated whenever Dean jumped to conclusions like this, but the only small words to come from his mouth were, “I was getting you a gift for Christmas.”

Dean paused at that. Cas came around to the side of the bed and placed the tiny box down on the countless books, magazines, comics, scattered papers, and whatever else Dean had stacked onto his nightstand table. The movie was paused by this point, leaving the room in a weird kind of silence that Cas wasn’t sure what to do with. He swept up all of the beers for lack of anything else to do under Dean’s curious gaze, and while fully aware that Dean had only just started the bottle he held in his hand, Cas extended a hand for it, expectantly. Dean eventually complied.

With the beers in his arms, he made his way to the kitchen, leaving Dean and the box alone in his bedroom while he made this quick run. Though, “quick” might not have been the most accurate term. He was a little weary to be going back in there. The stark smell of alcohol would still remain, reminding him that some of his absences hurt Dean more than he had ever considered in the past. It just didn’t cross his mind sometimes. But… Dean hadn’t looked so good tonight. Cas was mentally and physically spent, and yet, he knew he really owed it to Dean to stick with him tonight. He didn’t know much about Christmas movies, but they didn’t seem like the kind of things you watched by yourself.


	11. The Eleventh Hour

Dean had opened the box by the time Cas came back into the room, a little hesitant with a feeling he couldn’t quite place. Apparently, Dean became impatient during the few minutes Cas had been gone, and unwrapped the only present Cas bought him for Christmas. He didn’t know if there was supposed to be any fanfare, or if these gifts were meant to be opened the night before Christmas, but the look on Dean’s face made Cas wish he could slip back through the door.

He knew presents were supposed to bring joy. And Dean was- well, just confused.

There was a bunched-up wad of paper sitting on the bed beside Dean, and the tiny box was held open in his fingers, being stared down with a kind of malice. Dean glanced between the gift and Cas, the furrow between his brows not dissolving.

“Is it alright?” Cas asked.

Dean pulled it out the box now and shuffled across the bed sheets, enough to make room for Cas near the foot of the bed. “Um, yeah,” was all he answered with. The silver glistened between his thumb and index finger, held under the same kind of inspection as the tiny box had faced before. Cas took the unspoken invitation to sit beside him, and though Dean looked downright  _ worried _ at what he’d been given, Cas glowed in childlike glee while explaining what’d he brought back to the bunker.

“I thought the silver might be useful against ghouls and the like. There was a small board game shop that made their own figures and carvings. It all seemed very intricate. I also thought this sort of thing would appeal to you more than… socks.”

Dean snickered a little at the kind of present he’d mentioned earlier on their shopping trip. But really, nothing could stop his voice from wavering a little as he continued to stare at the silver ring. It was a  _ ring _ . In a  _ tiny box _ . From  _ Cas _ . “Did this… uh… have any specific purpose?” he choked out. He wasn’t sure  _ what _ kind of answer to expect, let alone hope for. Some area of his gut was already fluttering. Dean was pretty sure it meant he was moments away from throwing up.

Cas only looked over at him with innocence, though- their faces just inches apart. “It’s for Christmas.”

“Oh… kay…” He tore his eyes back to the ring. It wasn’t some fake sparkly crap, he knew that much. It seemed well-made, and the flowing letters engraved inside the ring were done to a nerd level of accuracy. But like the ring’s inspiration, the engravings were  _ only  _ engraved, and had no ink to highlight the letters. Despite the difficulty in reading them, he’d been staring at them long enough that he was pretty sure he knew what it read.

Cas tried reviving the conversation from its awkward lull. “I wasn’t sure what the symbols inside were supposed to represent, but the owners mentioned the Lord of the Rings, so…”

Dean couldn’t help the grin that bubbled into his lips. He was glad to hear that the amount of movies he’d subjected the angel to recently hadn’t been so overwhelming that none of them made an impression. Of course, they’d already done three marathons of the Lord of the Rings movies by this point, but regardless. It hadn’t entirely flown above Cas’ notice, and he was happy for it. “Yeah. It’s written in Elvish.”

“Ah,” Cas said, as if he was clearly an idiot for needing Dean to tell him that.

He humoured him with a little extra knowledge. “It’s a whole other language Tolkien made for his books. I used to practice it, actually.” It suddenly occurred to him that that wasn’t a normal thing to do, and Dean silently revoked the thing about nerd-accurate engraving skills.

But Cas, being Cas, only got more interested. “Do you know what it means, then?”

“Uh…” He appreciated the interest, in spite of what the flush in his cheeks might suggest. “It’s… some parody about it being the ring that binds two people….”

“O-oh!” A kind of understanding seemed to finally dawn on Cas, and he shuffled back a bit along the covers of the bed.

Dean glanced over, noticing the slightly larger divide between them now. In a moment of complete brain shut-down, he pulled the ring onto his right ring finger, where other rings had sat in previous years before he decided he was done with all that. The weight was solid and comforting, a temperate reminder of old memories his conscious brain couldn’t quite resurface. His smile barely diminished, knowing Cas was probably sitting there, now afraid if he’d passed a boundary of some sort. “I really like it though, Cas. Thanks.”

Now Cas was the one to smile, small and cute. “I’m glad. … I’m sorry if I ruined your Christmas, earlier. I should have thought about it longer. I just knew I should have gotten you a present, and-”

“Hey, whatever,” he said, making sure to keep his voice soft but insistent. He hadn’t even processed Cas’ apology yet, but when he finally did, the part of him that’d been demanding beer grew suddenly content and quiet. “I think us three actually did pretty great this year.” It wasn’t a lie, but Cas didn’t appear entirely convinced. “Look, you can make it up to me by watching a couple movies. C’mere.”

Cas, apparently, didn’t register them as the lightheart words they were supposed to be. Dean was tracked with a weary gaze while turning to lie down across the bed on his stomach, facing the TV. It flickered to life with the touch of the remote, which was always somewhere on Dean’s nightstand- though it was buried under different things every day. There was still a bit of hesitation on Cas’ end until he jerked his head, motioning for Cas to lay down as well. Cas was soon mimicking his position on the bed, though while looking uncomfortable at the way his trench coat bunched up and very conscious of not touching Dean, despite how little room he’d been left to do that. He chuckled at Cas’ expense, and seeing the grouch face rising up to the surface, he said, “You can sit if you want.”

Cas remained stubborn and just pursed his lips. They shared a gaze for a couple seconds. “This is actually more comfortable than I first imagined,” Cas admitted. He didn’t think angels had any tells, but Cas was certainly blinking a lot faster, and his eyes were more open as they laid so close together. They lounged on his bed a lot, but Cas was usually only ever perched on the edge of his bed like some uncomfortable portrait subject.

Dean turned back to the TV and shot his right arm out towards it, leaning into the gesture while he hit the menu button. Their shoulders brushed against each other for a moment while Dean leaned. It was hard to tell whether it’d been purposeful or not, but Cas did what he’d intended to do anyways, and rested his head gingerly in his hands, prepped to start firing off questions as soon as the movie began.

They stayed like this for a couple movies. Cas always struggled to stay silent for the first while of a movie, until Dean noticed he was dying to ask something and told him he’d better spit it out before the adorably sour look on his face got any more distracting. However, he hadn’t become aware until halfway through the second movie that Cas’ questions were petering out. But if Dean was being honest, his own brain was fogging over from the day’s earlier bouts of drinks, and the unusual excitement of celebrating some sort of holiday. They were both nodding off before they realized it.


	12. Happy Hour

Cas hadn’t moved or spoken in about half an hour; though, for all Dean knew, it might have been five minutes or an hour. His brain had become fuzzy from the desire to sleep, and without Cas or the movie to keep him awake- he’d seen this particular one no less than a dozen times, and it couldn’t hold his attention anymore- his body was gradually shutting down for the night. His eyes had just started getting incredibly heavy when the warmth at his side retreated, and the bed of the mattress straightened under him a bit. The door to his bedroom opened and closed with tiny squeaks; and then Cas was gone, without a word.

Dean fought against the weight of his eyelids and the suffocating urge to stay put by opting to leave his own room and follow Cas, letting the noise of the movie blare on in the background. It didn’t seem normal for Cas to leave again so soon, no matter if he was just grabbing a book or something from the library. Usually Cas humoured him by staying there throughout the night like a weirdo, or apologized early on and wriggled his way out of the room- and Dean understood both. What he didn’t understand was why Cas wasn’t in his bedroom. Or the library. Or the kitchen. Or the dungeon.

Or basically anywhere in the bunker.

And for a few awful minutes, Dean was left wondering once more if Cas had really ditched them for something monster- or angel-related in the early hours of Christmas Day.

Then, for some strange reason, he stopped by the room he was calling the “Cave”, or the “Den”. Maybe “Dean Den”. Needless to say, it was still a work in progress Nobody else had really been in this room, beyond the rare couple of times Cas and Sam had come to take a quick look at things. It was like his own second private spot, except for the fact that tonight there was an angel crashed on the loveseat. He doubted he’d keep the loveseat; it had just been on the road, and now it was just  _ here _ . Similar to how Cas had just sort of manifested in this room for absolutely no reason.

Dean circled the loveseat as if preparing for the angel to jump off the couch. But Cas just stayed there quietly, eyes closed and laying on his side, curled up within his trench coat like a little burrito. It all gave off an oddly human feeling. He knew Cas’ grace had been acting up, but… This was almost worrying. He hated to wake Cas- and he found himself doing it anyways, asking if Cas was okay.

He got a very muffled, “Mhm,” which sounded affirmative enough. Cas curled inwards on himself even further, which also happened to be in the direction of Dean’s hand, laid softly on his shoulder. “I didn’t want to bother you,” the angel muttered. At least, that’s what Dean assumed he said. Cas himself was still trying to fight off the sleep long enough to get orientated. The angel had been afraid that falling asleep in his own room would’ve been too obvious to avoid attention, and if he was being honest, the loveseat was comforting because of its material tendency to pick up scents. Right now it smelled a bit like Dean. Cas had narrowly avoided conking out in Dean’s room- but he was basically toast now. His exhausted mind hardly even registered that he had sat up, let alone what Dean was doing- and even still, it was hard to miss the warmth in this cool area of the bunker while Dean took up a seat beside him, no longer hiding the way he leaned into Cas’ shoulder.

Only about half of the loveseat became vacant when Cas sat upright in his sleep-ridden daze, but Dean figured he’d take it. Cas seemed like he was trying to convince himself- and Dean, although the angel should have known by now that he couldn’t bullshit the Winchester- that he wasn’t very tired. But he was. They both were. Between the extra rum in the eggnog and the last few weeks of restless nights, some old part of Dean’s brain had clicked off, and he didn’t feel like moving anymore tonight. Though the loveseat was old, it was a comfortable thing. He put most of his weight on the back cushions and let himself lean a little bit on the angel- to make sure Cas wouldn’t sneak off anywhere else. And, secretly, because this arrangement was pretty comfy.

Cas pulled away from Dean for a second. When their shoulders connected again, there was a noticeable layer of clothing missing. It caused Dean’s eyes to flicker open on instinct. Cas recognized the shock with a little smile.

The trench coat- he’d taken off his trench coat.

“Okay, woah,” Dean pulled away a little, his words slurring at their edges from mental flatlining. He hadn’t signed up for  _ this _ when he took a seat.

“It’s cold.” That was literally the only thing Cas replied with. It wasn’t any sort of answer Dean had been expecting, nor one that he thought he really wanted to hear, until the trench coat was getting draped over him like a blanket and Cas was snuggling back into him. He realized Cas was just being his regular self again- a bit obtuse, maybe, but wholly caring. They weren’t exactly lying  _ down _ on the loveseat, but Cas appeared to already have fallen asleep again, and with his head buried into Dean’s shoulder like an anchoring weight, there’d be no more shuffling around tonight. Dean felt the pull of sleep in pretty short order. His head eventually drooped down to rest on top of Cas’, and they were both out like lights.

They slept like that into the morning, too. So much so that Sam had enough time to put up some extra decorations for Christmas Day- the only piece of mistletoe that got hung in the bunker, positioned right above the loveseat.

So they all got pretty involved in Christmas, by the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Dean claiming, very defensively, that it doesn't count on Christmas morning. But I'll leave it up to interpretation. ^-^


End file.
